PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
by FrenchMacaroni
Summary: After Logan is rescued he can't handle sleeping alone and develops a bad habit of crawling into Hesh's bed late at night.
1. Home … in pieces

**Characters are not mine ... only the story. I'm in desperate need of a beta ...**

**Idea based on a kinkmeme prompt from the ghostskinkmeme livejournal.**

* * *

They found him. Finally found him.

Somewhere in the jungle, lying in a pit without moving. I was told to stand back. They didn't want me to see him yet. Thought it might be traumatic for me. I had already lost my father; another shocking view wouldn't do well to my mind apparently. How right they were.

He looked like … I don't know.

I almost lost grip on my weapon. His eyes were the only part of him I recognized as my brother. I was trembling: from fear for his life or joy of seeing him, or maybe anger, I didn't know. Even Merrick and Keegan were struck by the difference, wide-eyed and speechless. The ever so calm Keegan couldn't believe his eyes; certainly a bad replay of Ajax's death. Merrick's eyes, though he was a hardened man, softened marginally in disbelief. Now I understand how they broke Rorke. He looked so fragile, yet not thin; I knew they fed him poisonous food just like Rorke. Wouldn't want to kill such a good soldier I guess. How smart and thoughtful of them. They didn't even bother to heal his broken arm, those bastards.

I should have listened … I should have stayed away from the pit. But my brother needed me; even if it hurts me … I must stay by his side. I'm all he's got left.

Back to the base, Logan was done a full check-up. You never know what could have infected him. Other than that, a few serious bruises and cuts, minor blood loss, and traumatic injuries. But what I was more worried about wasn't the physical injuries.

It was the psychological damage.

First night was horrible. He screamed. I could hear it from my room, right to the infirmary.

"What the…" I stood up straight in my bed and stepped into the corridor, facing the direction of the sound. Other soldiers were also out of their beds, wondering what was happening. Including Merrick, who was already dashing down. "Merrick, what's going …" He cut me off before I could finish.

"It's your brother" He simply said, with a tone of urgency. He didn't object when I followed him. It took a while to reach the infirmary; I had to wonder how I managed to hear him from so far. Older brother instincts? Even Merrick seemed to know beforehand.

"Hold him down!" Some muffled voices came from behind the door. We burst onto the scene to find Logan writhing violently on the bed and screaming, held down by nurses and doctors. Keegan was there too, standing on the side, ready to intervene if necessary. "Keegan …" I asked him the implicit question while approaching him.

"Night terror" He raised his head and looked at me straight in the eye, as if to ground me to reality. Like he knew I was starting to lose it.

"Think it's trauma?" Merrick questioned, although he knew the answer. He too didn't want to believe it. No one did.

"Most certainly. They must have done something to him, to break him, or at least make him remember." Keegan answered quietly, shifting his gaze to the scene in front of us. I did too, watching. Logan still was unconscious; so he might have been dreaming back to something. The medical staff was now trying to strap him down, and preparing a sedative. A cold sweat broke over my skin, my hands became clammy. My heart sped up for some reason, and I became agitated.

Why? Why was I reacting this way? It was just normal procedure … so why did it feel like my insides were rearranging themselves? My mind going blank?

Why was I so scared?

Keegan noticed my change in behavior. "Hesh, you alright?" I didn't answer. I was feeling more and more out of it. Merrick turned at his voice and approached me.

"Hesh?" He put his hand on my shoulder and shook it. Keegan did the same. They exchanged a confused glance. They must have noticed my trembling, how my eyes were unfocused and glassy, the way my breathing quickened.

Suddenly, I fell back.

* * *

"Hesh? Hesh?" Through the fog and blankness of my mind, I heard my name being called several times.

"You ok, kid?" That must have been Merrick. I slowly came around, and noticed I wasn't standing anymore. Keegan was above me and staring, while Merrick, in a kneeling position, was holding my legs up.

"What happened?" I asked, completely disoriented. I tried to stand up, but Keegan's hand on my chest prevented me from doing so. "Where's Logan?" I asked when my mind caught up in abrupt realization.

"Calm down, kid. Logan's alright, he's been sedated." He reassured me calmly. His hand went to my shoulder, his deep blue eyes softening and conveying an unexpected kindness. "You, however, need to take it easy."

"Damn right. We don't want any of our soldiers passing out 'cause they were overstressing themselves" Merrick responded, quite harshly. But I knew better; he was worried, for both of us. Afeter all, we're the last thing left from our father; his commander.

"You should call it a night. Go back to bed and rest." Keegan advised me, while helping me to stand up, hands cercling my shoulders. "I understand how concerned you are, but don't shoulder everything yourself. Don't inflict that kind of pain on yourself, none of this is your fault. They wouldn't want that."

As he followed me to my room and made sure I got in bed, I couldn't help but think back to my brother, when he was abducted.

"What have they done to you?"

A week later, Logan was released by the medical staff.

But nights still weren't better. He was given some drugs to help him sleep, kept on a special diet, and away from any combat situations. That helped him on a physical aspect. But something was still bothering him that he wasn't telling.

I knew it by the way he always crawls in my bed late at night. Something he hasn't done for a very long time. My hate for the Federation intensified, if that was possible. My worry for my brother increased as well, if that was even possible.

One night was worse than the others. He told me what happened.

Like usual, he came in around midnight, when everybody was sound asleep. He crawled in quietly, and we stood back to back in silence. He didn't say anything at first.

"You alright?" I whispered quietly, as every other night. He didn't turn around. He never turned around. Always facing away from me since he was released. Even during lunch, he never once made eye contact with me, or anyone else. He remained distant and absent, as though a ghost of what he once has been.

"Logan?" I tried one more time, turning my head slightly his way. No answer. I was ready to give up for the night, when …

"Did you know?" His voice was small, almost inaudible. I sat up and looked at him.

"How long was I in there? I lost track of time on the 20th day. Or was it the 18th? I don't remember." I didn't dare talk.

"They set me on a routine. Wake up, feed me, torture me, feed me again, and put me back in the pit. Rorke was the one torturing me. He was always there. Always." He squeezed the blanket more.

"He played with my nerves, and my mind. He used anything that fell into his hands; his gun, his knife, the chair … he even tried to choke me with his bandana." He started trembling, voice wavering.

"Some nights were freezing cold. Raining so much water reached my knees. I had to remain standing to avoid drowning, even though I wanted to lie down. He often came by, to spite me and mock me." He buried his face into the pillow.

I was starting to feel helpless. I didn't know how to handle this kind of situation. It was always my dad, but now he's not here …

"You know what's worse? I hated you. I hated you for leaving me there for so long. I hated you for not helping me. I hated you for not stopping Rorke!" His voice grew louder, and shakier.

His words struck me down to the core. I could only stare at him, dumbfounded. Somewhere in my mind, I remembered the way his hand reached out to me, silently calling for me, for his brother, his family ... and I wasn't there to grab it.

"Logan, I tried to …" He stood up sharply.

"NO, YOU DINDN'T!" He screamed at me, facing me full on. "You abandoned me! You're supposed to be my brother, to defend me, and you …" His voice broke. A tear fell down his cheek. "You weren't there … David" Logan broke down in sobs.

Never have I been so shocked in my life. One thing I never wanted to see was my brother crying. It just never sits well with me. I always think it's my fault when it's not, except this time … it really is.

He may never forgive my betrayal.

I didn't really react when he fell into my arms, shrieking into my chest, not caring if someone might be alerted by those sounds. My shirt was starting to get damp, but who cares. He came back in pieces, which may never be found again. Rorke took a part of him that he kept as a trophy. I already lost my father, and now part of my brother was missing.

Another tear fell down. This time, it wasn't Logan's.

* * *

Somewhere near his room, Keegan and Merrick were sitting down noiselessly, glancing at each other in silent agreement. Soon, they'll disappear again into the shadows for an ultimate mission. As Ghosts.

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**Kind of sad, right ? Please review ?**


	2. What's really wrong ?

**Here's what all the reviewers wanted : another chapter ! With all your high praises, I will make this story a complete one.**

**Thanks to Blossomsanderson, AmericasHeroes, Guest, LovingyouEverySecond and Guest ! You can give yourself a pat on the shoulder.**

* * *

Behind closed doors, Merrick and Keegan heard the whole thing.

Behind solemn faces, they heard the distress of a young boy, barely a man.

Behind shielded hearts, a flash of pain and sorrow struck through them.

The low voice of the younger Walker steadily escalated into a deafening shriek of hurt and loneliness, calling out for his brother. And implicitly calling out for the rest of the team, his other family. They both knew it. It wasn't only Hesh … it was them too. The older men that knew more about life, knew more about Rorke and his ways of doing.

They as well, had failed one of their teammates.

Once again.

* * *

Logan disappeared as dawn rose into the sky. He stopped crying after some time, and just exited the room once he calmed down enough, as though nothing happened. I stood still like a rock, petrified by this sudden display of anger and hate. My younger brother hated me. Despised me. I had no idea what could be worse than family shutting you out. Tears continued streaming down my cheeks long after Logan left; solely directed at myself.

Sleep did not come this night.

The following morning, it was painfully obvious I hadn't slept one bit. Many soldiers kept glancing at me, staring back and forth between their friends and myself while harboring an expression of anxiousness and nervousness.

Logan's rant apparently did not go unnoticed. Even with their best effort to hide whatever they heard, it was clear they did not think less. I simply trudged my heavy body towards the order line, ignoring everyone to the best of my capabilities.

Yet again I was reminded of what happened with the agitated attitude of the cook. My eyes glared back into his, making him squeak in fear and serving me my food faster than anticipated. Clearly not in the mood to deal with the situation, I set my face into a stiff but tired expression, daring someone to say something as I sat down on an isolated table.

Surprisingly effective. They all turned back to their conversations or food or whatever stupid shit they were doing. I believe they were not used to seeing me in such dark mood. Still, from the corner of their eyes, they kept peeking in my direction. Unfortunately, my shield wasn't protecting me anymore from those annoying and burning stares.

I was ready to give them a piece of my mind when Merrick settled in front of me and motioned to sit as well. Keegan joined in soon after; not before giving a passive glance around the dining room.

"Did you sleep any ?" He questioned after a few minutes, giving me a rapid once-over, noticing the slight bags under my eyes. Any more sleepless nights and they will become more than that.

"What do you think ?" I answered harshly.

"I assume not." He replied in his ever composed voice, starting to dig into his meal: a simple American breakfast. Time passed by in tense silence.

"We heard what happened last night, we under …" Merrick started, eyes poised carefully on myself.

"No you don't." I quickly interrupted him. Clearly, they were not impressed by my sullen mood. Merrick simply drank his cup of coffee and Keegan ate his fried bacon, briefly glancing at each other, exchanging who knows what.

"You can't keep doing this, you'll just wear yourself out." Keegan attempted to argue. "Look, we want you to talk to someone specialized in trauma. Logan is already following a timetable."

I stared stupidly at him. He stared back, waiting for an answer, expecting it to be positive.

"No way, I'm not some kind of traumatized boy, I can perfectly handle it. Do you seriously think I am weak ?" I accentuated my words by placing my fist and forearm on the table, leaning slightly on them to give an air of confidence. I'm not sure who I was trying to convince.

"I think you're underestimating the impact of this event." Merrick stated evenly. "Not only this one, but your father's death as well."

I froze when he mentioned my dad. The memory was still fresh in my mind: all the words, all the gestures, the sound of the gun going off … and Rorke. Fucking Rorke. The bloody bastard that destroyed my family. I clenched my fists as anger surged in my system, pressing my lips in a grim line.

"You need time to accept this. The psychologist will test your emotional stability and decide whether or not you're apt to join the battlefield again." Keegan, sensing my violent emotions, subtly diverted my attention. The guy's way too observant for my liking.

"You're removing me from the battlefield !? I'm perfectly fine in case you didn't notice !" I raised my voice in indignation, not caring if I was attracting attention or overreacting. But somewhere deep inside me, I knew they were right. They were trying to help me like my father would, protecting me like one of their teammates.

"Your reaction tells a lot about how you feel. You're off duty until you see the psy and regain some stability" Merrick said with finality. He stood up and left, not once looking back. Only Keegan remained, before he stood up too, placing his hand on my lowered head, applying light pressure on it. My shoulders shook slightly.

"Take it easy kid, I'm here if you need to." With this, he left as well. All that remained were their empty plates of food and half-filled cups.

* * *

The following days, I went to see the goddamn psychologist, as I was told. The moron just kept asking useless questions about the things I feared, stuff that angered me or repulsed me, all my experiences as a soldier … just to know if I had trouble handling upsetting events.

"Yeah, maybe I was furious at Rorke" I simply told him. "What are you gonna do about it ?"

"There's more to it than you want to let on" The psychologist, Ben, answered steadily. "There's a deeper pain within your heart. Something shattering, so heavily ingrained in your soul that it might break you if you so much as poke at it." He tucked back his glasses on his nose, waiting patiently for my answer.

I flinched when he mentioned my other hidden problem. He's smart, or perhaps I was too obvious. Probably the latter, I couldn't care less. I just wanted to get it done with and leave the stupid room.

"You're afraid, terrified I should say." He carried on as he noticed I wasn't about to answer. "You've always been the elder person. Always there for your younger brother, guiding him, protecting him … And the fact that you couldn't play your role has broken something into you." Once again, he stared at me and took notes, still waiting for an answer or some kind of reaction. The guy was going to be sadly disappointed.

"I believe this isn't the first time it's happened." He resumed, absolutely not frustrated. "It's been with you all your life, from school to work. You always knew what was going on in your brother's life; you kept watching him and being with him."

I had to admit Ben was right. Subconsciously, I started paying more attention to his words.

"Obviously, the double forced separation did not sit well with you, all performed by the same man." Ben sat up straighter in his chair before following. "The first one was based on pure hate and anger, the killing act was quick and efficient. He didn't give you time to think about it."

"The fucking son of a bitch …" I growled lowly under my breath, fists almost tearing up the fabric of my pants. "Motherfucker destroyed my family !" Swinging my arm in pure rage, I knocked half the contents off the table, breathing hard. Ben contemplated the damage without real interest, waiting for me to calm down.

"In your report, you mentioned Rorke showed a strange kind of interest in Logan." He went on, leaning onto his folded arm. He took out a napkin and wiped off the contents of a fallen glass of water, patently served for me.

"He said he was good, that he had fire in him." I answered after I cooled off a bit.

"I suppose you considered his interest inappropriate and uncalled for, even a bit sick." I nodded my consent. "Rorke certainly realized your bond with your brother, and clearly wanted to rip it off." I remembered the moment he shot Logan. The wound wasn't lethal, but my rage flared up so quickly I surprised myself. That must have been the moment he noticed.

"Apparently, his goal is not only to destroy the Ghost team that betrayed him, but to destroy everything related to the person that caused it: Elias Walker." Time passed by as he waited for the information to sink in. Everything related to my dad, which means …

"He'll be coming back after Logan." My eyes widened slightly at the implication. Rorke wasn't done yet.

"Not only him. You're in as well." He fixed me with a hard stare, trying to convey his thoughts. "Right now, his aim is to kill both you and the team, and claim Logan for his own purposes."

I raised an eyebrow at the words he used. "What do you mean his "own purposes"?" Watching him in confusion, he shifted slightly.

"Understand that Rorke has not only been known for his efficiency on the battlefield, but also for taking sadistic pleasure in torturing others. This trait has been accentuated when he was abducted by the enemy." My frown deepened as I understood nothing of what he was telling me. Sighing, he elaborated.

"In his career, Rorke used any methods to torture or get information from his enemies. This includes sexual torture."

I stood stiff in absolute shock, my mouth hanging slightly open, eyes widening and limbs going numb. Did I hear right ?

"You mean rape ?" I asked him modestly. I fervently wished nothing of this sort happened to Logan. My stomach churned at the horrifying thought.

"Probably. I do not exactly know what activities he led during his sessions, but they were certainly of this nature." He felt a bit uneasy with the subject. I couldn't blame him. Rorke was appearing more and more disgusting to my eyes.

"You think he wants to take Logan and keep him like a toy ?"

"That's what I think. He'll kill two birds with one stone: he'll destroy your soul and one Ghost, and keep Logan hostage, changing him and using him against you. And why not satisfy his perverse mind." Ben cast his gaze downwards.

No. This couldn't be true.

I did not want to think anymore. Rorke was a sadistic monster that gives into any of his insatiable impulses. He enjoyed hurting and torturing people. I couldn't believe Logan was with him for any amount of time. How he resisted for so long was utterly out of my mind. The churning sensation came back, my eyes burning from the now familiar feeling. I put my hand over my mouth, willing down my gag reflex.

I couldn't stand the thought of my brother receiving such treatment. I couldn't even start to imagine how he must have felt, trapped with a psychotic and unstable person. The guilt came back in full force, as I thought of all the things I could have done to prevent this. If only I stopped him, if only I was stronger …

"He hates me now." I slowly said, the shaky quality of my voice surprising me. "I wasn't there for him."

"He might at the moment; however it's only a normal reaction after a traumatic experience." Ben set his glasses over his head, standing up and heading towards me. He placed a hand on my hunched shoulders.

"I suggest you take some time off the field, try to sort things out and rest. I'll remove your name from the active list." He patted my shoulder in sympathy. "Remember, none of this is your fault. I'll see you later" Then he left me alone with my mind.

I remained still for a long amount of time, body filled with numbness and shock. Tears started falling from my wide eyes down my stiff face, as everything settled in. I didn't know why, didn't understand the reason, but my eyes stung more and I started crying harder. My body racked with sobs, the room filled with agonized screams of anguish and pain, as I let out all the pent up anger, despair and frustration I had accumulated since Logan left.

I thought back of all the moments I spent with him and my father, his smile, his laugh … Everything crashed down on me stronger than I would ever think.

I have never felt this useless before.

* * *

**Well ? Reviews are welcomed ! Next chapter might be on ... point of view . Will there be action ? Drama ? This will be a surprise !**


	3. Trauma die hard

**Ahh, it's been a while ... Damn the school work and preparatory exams. Anyway, thanks to all the new and ancient reviewers: Guest and Guest, xldoorslx, LovingyouEverySecond , Blossom Sanderson98, AmericasHeroes, misszelda3290, .08, and our friend from Mexico kiarainu !**

**You make me laugh and smile !**

**Virtual pat on the shoulder through the Internet.**

**I realized I forgot: characters are not mine (damnit !), only the (fantastic) plot and (amazing) work.**

**I suggest you listen to "Ghosts soundtracks: San Dieago Burning", it might help settle the mood. (Just listen to it, it's sad and beautiful). David Buckley is a genius.**

**Still looking for a beta reader.**

* * *

I remembered everything.

All the sounds, from the screeching chair to the choking noises, the clicking of a gun barrel. All the words spoken in both Spanish and English. All the smells produced from disintegrating corpses drowned in a pool of blood, mud and water.

My living "quarters" were specifically designed to take a psychological toll on my mind. I wasn't particularly afraid of blood and death, but this was pushing it too far; so far that it repulsed me and nearly activated my gag reflex. The corpse was still recent, probably a few days old when I arrived. His head hung tenuously to the rest of his body by a thin cord, that might have been one of his blood vessels, considering the little splatter of the red liquid near it. One eye was carefully gouged out, only the nerve remaining, sticking to his cheek like a wet rag. Red foam leaked out of his mouth; clotted blood, sticky and viscous, poured out from several wrist and ankle injuries. Tendons and nerves were pulled out and tied into neat bow ties.

Whoever killed that man took their sweet time torturing him. He simply looked the same as a grotesquely hacked piece of living meat. No consideration. No mercy. Just the sadistic pleasures of admiring somebody suffer for entertainment. They threw me in this pit, landing directly on the sorry excuse of a human being. Honestly, I've seen dead people look livelier than this.

Standing up slightly, I hadn't realized the squishing sound my hand produced when it came in contact with a viscid matter. Raising up my hand slightly, it slid between my fingers and landed on the muddy ground with a wet thud. Bits of brains stuck around my digits, and I stared at them in mute horror, before turning around and gagging violently, throat clenching furiously and mind reeling in utter disgust.

"Can't handle a little blood, kid ?" Just then, Rorke appeared in the dim light of the evening sun, grinning maniacally down at me. I looked up, breathing heavily through my mouth. His smile widened.

"By the way, I did this." He said looking absolutely smug and proud. "It might happen to you if I get a tad bit too excited." He gestured a circling motion with his hand to emphasize his words.

"Well, have a pleasant night and see you tomorrow." He said ironically before leaving with a light chuckle. The sound of his steps carried on a bit longer until they were no longer near the area. I spent the night alone with a dead roommate, the smell and the sight of his body preventing me from sleeping.

I woke up to the voices of yelling Federation soldiers, speech in a jumbled mess between English and Spanish.

"Get up, Ghost !" One of them shouted with a thick Hispanic accent. They tossed me some food through the wooden gate and left. I wasn't stupid. I knew the food was poisoned. There was no way in hell I would eat it. I just left it to rot on the ground. This cycle was repeated every day, two meals a day. They would give me food even if I didn't eat the previous meal, letting it pile up in the constricted place. After a few days though, I was considerably weakened and exhausted.

That's the moment they chose to get me out and bring me to the main quarters. We passed through several halls and corridors, Federation soldiers glancing around, muttering "Americano" and "Ghost" under their breath in disdain. Once arrived, they forced me in a chair then retreated back a few steps closer to the door. I got up slowly to sit on the chair, watching around the dimly lit room. Was this the interrogation room ?

Silence hung for long minutes, the Spanish soldiers unmoving, leaving me to stew in my own nervousness and apprehension. The place was quite narrow, almost private in some way, forcing some kind of intimacy … or removing it. A table, a bed, chairs, and a few metal objects were the only furniture composing this room. In short, the place was bare and frightening. Just as my levels of anxiousness rose, somebody decided to enter.

Of course it had to be Rorke, in all his devious glory.

The man was clad in simple training pants, tight fitting black shirt and his usual bandana tied over his head. He walked in slowly, gazing passively at me, took a chair and sat down in front of me. We stared at each other: him interestingly, me furiously.

"I like that fire in your eyes, kid." He stated calmly, a little smile quirking his lips. "Reminds me of someone I used to consider a friend."

I knew what he meant, but didn't answer, opting for glaring silently.

"Ah, this dear Elias. What a man." He stood up with a contemplative gaze, a faraway look in his eyes, as if remembering a distant memory. "He was my brother, my friend, until that day …" His light mood darkened considerably, brows furrowing on his large forehead, lips turned downwards.

"Do you know how betrayal feels ?" He stopped marching, kneeling down to my level. "Do you know how it feels when the person you consider your brother abandons you ?" His voice rose in anger and frustration. I didn't understand where he was getting at by telling me his story, but surely I wasn't going to give him a reason to carry on. Seeing as I wasn't about to respond, he stood up and moved back, a nasty expression on his face.

"Anyway, no one's gonna come for you, not even your big brother." A twisted smile appeared, enough to make me suspicious of his mental stability. "Once you're out of here, you'll never be the same …"

"That is, if you can get out." His words were half lost on me as my eyes fixated on a sharp combat knife held in his hands. Quickly dodging to the side, I fell off the chair in a clattering sound. Startled, the soldiers made to move, but were interrupted by a frigid glance sent their way. They gulped and stood rigidly in place. Turning back to the firmly imbibed knife, I contemplated the damage it could have done to my exhausted body if I hadn't dodged. Rorke was watching too; only in a fascinated way, almost mesmerized, but half disappointed it missed.

"Well well, you've got some training here !" Rorke exclaimed, leaving the knife in its newly found sheath. "Let's see how good you really are." Then he kicked me, knocking the wind out of my lungs. The next hit I blocked, and gave him one of my own; staggering back in a grunt, he charged back right at me. I stood up, caught his midsection, and tackled him on the ground. Mounting on his hips, I started pounding his face into the ground. I wondered why the subordinates remained completely inactive while their boss was getting his ass handed to him.

I watched them for a brief moment. My fatal mistake.

Seeing an opening, Rorke head-butted me, hard. Stars flew into my vision, blinding me momentarily. Just one moment too long. Something I assumed was a cord tied around my neck, pulling from behind and forcing my head back in a painful arch, cutting off my air supplies at the same time. Frantically trying to grasp the aggressor, I accidentally scratched my neck to near rawness, tears forming in the corner of my eyes.

"How does that feel, boy ?" Rorke's low chuckle reverberated against the walls in a hollow echo as I let out a strangled grunt of agony. Hot breath came through dry, half open lips as my lungs burned in oxygen deprivation. Black spots danced in my vision in mock warning. However, before I could pass out, I was promptly released.

"Quite stubborn, aren't you ?" He crouched until he was close to my level on the ground. Then I noticed the object in his hand. I did, even before noticing his face or expression. His bandana. He almost killed me with a fucking piece of cloth ! I coughed a few times until I was roughly pulled back onto the chair by the shoulders. Rorke held me by the chin before I could slump heavily.

"You're a tough one." He bent closer, his brown eyes staring me down in complete domination. "We're sure gonna have some fun." His psychotic grin returned in full force, slowly breaking down my resolve to resist. His smile then turned slightly soft, making me shiver in dreaded anticipation. I didn't dare interpret the meaning behind this expression. I felt something much darker lurking behind his faux pleasant smile; something untold, but known by many all the same.

"So quiet all of a sudden. Was I too rough ?" He kept on mocking me in my weakened state. "Ah well, can't help it." He gestured for his men to take me away; they obeyed in unison and moved together. As they dragged me out, each by a shoulder, my mind drifted forward to any possible treatment that could be awaiting me. Methods of torture flashed through my mind: drowning, beating, burning … Everything.

Everything, except what was about to happen to me.

"Have a good night. You'll need it …" An eerie response to an unasked question fell on long deaf ears.

* * *

I woke up every morning to be dragged back to the same room, following the same routine, seeing the same faces and facing the same treatment.

"Podéis dejar." Rorke told them, and then they left. He turned back to me, a strange look in his eyes as he approached me slowly. He stopped and stared.

"You are one of a kind." He started, circling me. "You're strong, stronger than your brother … or your father." He placed a hand on my shoulder, and bent down to eye level.

"But that's it. Your brother and his team will have a nice surprise when they find you." His shark-like smile came back, except I didn't have the willpower to resist, after all the days I've fought. I simply wanted it to end. My body ached with several slice wounds and sore muscles from the beating. Rorke was strangely creative when it came to hurting his enemy. He didn't hesitate to innovate new ways of torture, using a dull and rusty fork or the slightly sharp edge of a broken plate.

"I'll show you how betrayal feels." His fist knocked me down before I could even register his movements. I hit the ground, half conscious of my surroundings. Was he getting faster ? Or were my days of captivity finally taking their toll on my body ? My vision swam for a bit, while I tried to focus on Rorke. Who wasn't in my narrow field of vision.

"I'll show you how abandonment and rejection feels." I nearly jumped when he whispered in my ear, his weight falling low on my back, arms poised at each side of my head and hot breath ghosting over my cheek.

"You'll understand how a man changes. For better or for worse." He stroked my cheek with his own, pressing the side of his face close to mine, delivering a funny gentle sensation that went against his whole character. That's what sent alarms ringing in my head. His attitude was unusual, so out of character that it made his intentions unclear. His next actions confirmed my doubts.

Still close to me, his hand ran through my hair in a soft and slow motion, almost affectionate. He gave out an appreciative hum, feeling a smile spread on his face. He went on, slowly lowering his hips on my backside, settling them in a comfortable position, sighing. I froze at the invasive contact. I tried moving away, violently bucking my hips upward to throw Rorke off, but it wasn't enough. His grip on my hair tightened, using it as leverage to pull my head towards him. Pulling out a knife from his hip, he stabbed me in the stomach; blood flowed from the wound freely. However, I didn't make any sounds, except a hissing noise that betrayed the pain I felt.

"Still expect them to come ? I was gonna play nice, but then …" He spoke in a soft voice, as if attempting to soothe a frantic animal.

He then promptly bit my ear, running his tongue on the outer shell languidly. I gasped in pain and surprise; what the hell was he doing !?

"You turn me on."

I squirmed before him, trying to free myself from his strong grasp. It only served to excite him more.

His tongue travelled from my ear to my jaw, licking the underside, running it smoothly down to my chin, then neck. In my crouch position, with the knife pressed into me, I wasn't able to defend myself. Even less when Rorke kept his hand on the sharp object, stirring it deeper whenever he felt like it. He moved back slightly, contemplating his work: the shiny streak of saliva visible only to him. My knees were shaking, breath ragged from the unexpected treatment, mind desperately trying to drift away.

"How was that ? Feels good, eh ?" Once again he sniggered in amusement and disdain. "Don't worry, I ain't done yet."

To my horror, his right hand travelled down my stomach, palm flat, then slid under my tattered shirt and came in contact with my skin. Caressing it in circular motion, he dipped one finger into my navel slightly, delicately. I shivered at the unfamiliar contact, and let out an involuntary small noise of contentment.

My whole being froze in motion.

"Like that ? I got more in stock for you." Rorke's mouth attacked my neck relentlessly, sucking viciously near the vein, biting at huge chunks of skin then licking and blowing on it almost tenderly. He moaned in appreciation at his own handy work, watching the disheveled mess I was starting to become.

"You look scandalous, Logan." The sound of my name coming out of his mouth paralyzed me to the core. Clearly, he was trying to get intimate with me, probably, no, certainly wanting to break me from the inside out. And he was doing a damn good job at it.

"I wonder if your brother has seen you like this before … That would shock him a bit, wouldn't it ?" The bastard dared mention Hesh !

"The brother that isn't here to help you." He leaned forward near my ear, speaking hotly words of disdain. His hand moved down towards my crotch area languidly, taking all the time in the world. The motion sent shudders of anticipation up my spine, electricity coursing through my body all the way to the bottom of my limbs as he neared his destination.

"The brother that _will not come_ to help you." His hand finally ghosted over the freshly formed bulge of my pants. I did my best not to let any reactions show on my face, setting it in a straight and cold façade. But how hard was this when he pressed more firmly against it, rubbing it in leisure and deliberate motions ? How hard was it when all his actions were measured and calculated to deliver the most damage in minimal effort ?

"The brother that has already _abandoned_ you." His words cut more than I originally thought they would. He roughly grabbed me through the fabrics of my pants, craning my head back to allow access to my neck and bite down, pressing his crotch area into my backside … and through all that, I couldn't help but moan and writhe helplessly under his unnaturally skilled touch.

"The brother that has _forgotten_ you." The meaning behind his words, though wrong, was beginning to sink in, feel true. Even though I didn't want to believe it, Rorke's tenacity and personality crumbled my resolve, my will to fight, to keep trying. His words imprinted themselves deeply, permanently in my mind, like burning hot fire. Unmovable. All he said felt so real. So true.

Waves of pleasure washed over me in cascades, as Rorke continued his treatment smoothly. His grin and chuckle reappeared in the crook of my neck, breathy, sly, mocking me sadistically.

"In the end, is he _really_ your brother ?" The ultimate question was one too much. The reality of my situation came tumbling down on my barely lucid mind. It's been days, and still no signs of my team. No signs of my brother.

Were they not coming to help me ? Were they not worried ? Was I worth nothing ?

Fire burned in me, but not of passion or love. It burned with rage and disappointment, with fierce betrayal. They betrayed me. They betrayed me. Hesh betrayed me. My _own_ brother betrayed me. My _own_ family !

"No." I choked, wide-eyed at my sudden confession. I just denied the one person that was my reason for living. The person I followed and admired the most, the person I loved, the person that was my best friend and partner. It hurts, like never before, like my heart was pulled out of my chest cruelly. All the memories I had were only an ironic joke, a sneering presence that will forever be a memento of my abandonment and loss of faith.

"Exactly." Speeding his actions, I came undone, but felt nothing. Just nothingness. Numbness. I was drained without feeling it. Dead without knowing it. Words did it without me noticing it. I seriously underestimated their power. Now I understood what they meant whenever they told us to pick our words carefully. If not chosen wisely, they hurt. More than a gun or a knife. More than the loss of a loved one.

And in spite of all, Rorke managed to break me without really trying, simply using the right amount of physical and literary abuse. Beads of tears fell down my eyes, even though I felt nothing inside. He killed me, over and over again. He repeated his actions countless times, days after days, getting more and more brutal and invasive with each passing session, rehearsing the same cutting words like a broken record. I stopped fighting long ago, merely waiting for Rorke to have his fun time then leave.

Only one word registered in my mind. Never again will I forget its meaning, or the context in which it was pronounced. For it has been burned into my very soul, like a pact signed with the Devil in front of God.

"You are _alone_."

Forever will Rorke own a part of me.

* * *

**Damn, I feel like Shakespeare ! Reviews are welcomed and motivate me ! Keep up the poetry and I'll keep up the drama. Let's see who writes the most beautiful review, in verse or prose :)**

**You Frenchies will soon have a new chapter ! (at least I'll try)**


	4. Memories of the past

**I think I'll update chapters at a monthly rate, since I don't have a lot of time to write, and even less with exams coming up.**

**This chapter was really difficult to write, with all the introspection and character development, while trying to make it realistic. It took a lot of inspiration, and I hope the result is satisfying !**

**To all the reviewers (and new followers), thanks a lot !**

**Guest (1): It'll get better for Logan, don't worry.  
AmericasHeroes: How nice to hear my chapters are worth the wait ! I can feel your passion !  
xldoorslx: Rorke is just the sadistic bastard, but that's how we love him :)  
Beawolf's Pen: I cannot kill Rorke without Activision's consent ! (even though I want to)  
misszelda3290: I tried to convey the physical torment through verbal communication and thoughts, and it seems I suceeded ! Doesn't it look refined in a pleasurably sadistic way ?  
****kiarainu: So much hate on Rorke, poor boy, nobody loves him ... Gracias !  
Andrew 2000: Great critique, I love it !  
Guest (2): Thank you !**

**I have a strange attraction for the movie Thor, and its 2 main male characters, both on and off set ...**

**DON'T HAVE A BETA !**

* * *

Things stagnated for a while, nothing neither evolving nor getting worse.

Ever since that night, Logan avoided his brother like the plague. Never once making eye contact with him, or sitting at the same table. He never touched others either, doing his best to avoid any skin contact with someone: wrapping himself in covering clothes, steering clear out of the other soldiers' way … Of course I knew the reason why. The medics gave me and Merrick the _full_ injury list, unlike Hesh, who knew only the least disturbing part.

I have always had trouble with Rorke's strange attraction to anything relating to inflicting unnecessary pain to his enemy. I was never one to do unnecessary things; always did anything quickly and effectively. The others didn't really seem bothered by it; or perhaps they didn't know or didn't try to understand. I, however, never averted my eyes from his doings. I knew Rorke was a strong and respectable man, and during my younger years as a Ghost, I simply wanted to understand and learn from him.

But my admiration rapidly faded away once I knew exactly what he was up to. What surprised me the most was probably how randomly his fits appeared and how quickly they faded away. It would just seize him in the middle of a mission, and I often found him dragging one of our enemies in a dark corner, invisible through the scope of my rifle. As if he knew I would be watching. He would always look a little frantic, but wary, when he dragged a Fed away, like he needed to satiate an urge, whatever it was. I never questioned him on his bizarre disappearances during missions, for he always reappeared at the right moment to take commands back from Elias.

Sitting at the edge of the window of my shared room with Merrick, I glanced down the building that was our HQ and home. The wind picked up and blew into my dark hair, ruffling it a bit in a way that would have been charming. I ran a hand through the light curls, heaving a sigh as I remembered things from the past. Merrick warned me that I shouldn't become nostalgic; it always made him uncomfortable or uneasy for my sappy talk irritated him. But I knew better than to take him to the word in these kinds of situation. Big dude liked to play tough in front of kids.

Still, that scene kept playing in my mind as I recalled the state Logan came back in. It was one particularly difficult mission after Operation Sand Viper that I finally understood what his disappearance meant. Being the team's scout sniper, I was on my way to join the others, moving through debris and smoke as I headed to the meeting point. I did not expect to find any enemies or meet resistance on my way; however I didn't expect to find an ally … in the company of a Fed, might I say. Or rather being abducted.

The guy was tied to a chair, using his jacket as a cord. He was beaten up in a serious way, blood cascading down his face, neck and arms in rivulets, the crimson liquid accumulating on the dusty ground. Covered in sweat and a strange translucent liquid, gagged, and obviously exhausted, the guy had certainly met a demon. I almost felt sorry for him. Getting ready to leave, I then noticed some movements. How surprised was I when Rorke was the author of such act. I ducked low behind some barrel, watching him. Rorke took out his combat knife in a single, slow drag, running it carefully on the Fed's neck, down his shoulder and wrist. There he dug it viciously into the tender appendage, cutting through visible nerves and veins, spraying blood on his contented face. I flinched slightly at the cruelty of such pointless act, face creasing in a disapproving frown behind my thick goggles.

Surely, the guy attempted to scream behind his gag, puking through it from the sheer amount of pain. I remained discreet, but subconsciously feeling truly sorry for him. I wasn't aware Rorke was capable of such monstrosity and sadism; my respect for him turned morbid. He was smiling too much. He was too happy about the man's misery. Fortunately for the guy, Rorke seemed to be done with him; pulling his knife out and directing it towards the barely conscious man's neck. He sliced his throat in one clean motion.

I made sure to arrive after him. He had started recapping the mission, nothing seeming out of place. Setting my goggles back on my helmet, I glanced at the others: only Merrick and Elias, slightly standing back, met my gaze.

They didn't know yet. However, I never imagined how far this could go.

* * *

Early in the morning, slightly before dawn, I laid awake in my bed, thinking back again to those times. The Walker family really was unlucky to fall on Rorke in his screwed state of mind. The situation oddly resembled a badly written comedy, with no apparent happy ending.

"Poor Logan." I muttered under my breath. "Those last weeks must have been hard on you." Clenching my fingers together, I laid back on the hard wall.

"Like hell they were. The boy's been through crap." Merrick's voice from beside me surprised me a bit. "Thinking out loud now, Keegan?" He rolled on his side, facing me. Oh, that must have been the reason why he manifested his presence.

"I'm just concerned. I wonder if he'll manage to pull through … if they both will." In the time we've gone to missions together, I became attached to the brothers. Especially the younger one, but both of them had their noble qualities. Hesh had the defining traits of a leader: skilled, thoughtful and intrepid. He was the perfect brother as well, caring and on the lookout for his younger sibling, but he never overprotected him. Logan, although young and quiet, was the embodiment of determination. He was respectful and capable, never disobeyed orders or strayed away from his path. Unfortunately, he had this tendency to fall in the subordinate role, and rarely left his brother's side. That's one of the strange features he had.

"Eventually they will. They just need time and support." Merrick said wisely, sitting up on the side of his bed with his arms poised on his knees. "We should keep an eye on them though, this will be tough." He said more softly as an afterthought.

"Hesh's really affected by all this shit, his reactions kind of … worry me." Being the observant type, I quickly noticed his mood swings and dark moods altogether. The way he would flare up at any remarks or looks thrown his way or spoken behind his back, how tense he was while sitting, and the distrust in his eyes clearly born from worry and self-disgust. I saw and felt it all: his pain, his despair … was reaching me; the situation was breaking him and tearing him into pieces. Just like Logan had been.

How ironic; the brothers will have complementary wounds to remind them of this time. Remind them of Rorke.

Raising an eyebrow, Merrick raised his head in mild surprise, cocking it to the side. "You never say that kind of thing." He then turned to face the glowing sunlight of dawn through the window. "You must be really worried" He said while scratching the back of his head.

"Are you not?" I knew him too well to think him indifferent. He always had the tendency to act tough and insensible in dire situations, appearing cold and ruthless, when he really isn't. But who didn't? Soldiers learn to guard their feelings so as not to let the enemy manipulate them, goad them into making mistakes. I knew that such mistakes could cause you terrible loss, or untreatable trauma. "Doesn't this remind you of Ajax?"

Ah, sensible spot. Never have we talked about our dead comrades of the past before.

Merrick visibly tensed, but didn't say a word or spare a look. He kept his gaze resolutely fixed on the window, apparently unwilling to talk about it. It's painful memory, I knew it. The loss of a friend always hurt. How must the loss of family feel like then?

"The past is the past. We should not dwell on it." And here goes the tough guy speech. I sighed, shaking my head at his immaturity.

"We never talk about it. But that doesn't stop us from remembering." Raising my blue eyes, I stared straightly at him. "They're good guys, just like Ajax was."

"I know they are, you don't need to remind me of that." His voice low, Merrick ran a hand on his bald head. Typical when he felt uncomfortable.

"You really are more worried than you let on." I said smiling sympathetically. "You don't need to hide it, especially from me. I know you well enough." I told him consciously.

"I am not hiding!" He answered harshly while promptly diverting his head to look at me with a strange expression. I never saw anything like that etched on his face. Surprised, not understanding his reaction, I stood stone still, meeting his gaze evenly.

"Why must you act this way? Like you're not affected by all of it?" Although surprised, I had a sneaking sensation that this was related to what I have just said about Ajax. Maybe it was too soon to speak about it, but then again, it was never late enough to speak about dead comrades.

"You're pissing me off Keegan." Cold as steel, Merrick's voice rang low in the early morning as a silent threat, stopping me in my impulse. I stared at him in slight astonishment and confusion, still not getting his attitude. After all those years …

"I don't understand …" I tried saying but was once again cut off.

"There's nothing to understand, so just shut up!" His voice raised in octaves as he got more upset. I found myself gaping at him at his outburst, sensing something wrong in his unnatural reaction.

"Is it Ajax?" I asked him quietly, already knowing the answer. I noticed how his behavior changed after the failed rescue mission. He returned to his harsher self off missions, barely joking around like he used to do, even if moderately. Ajax was the type of guy to make others laugh by making a fool of himself, or playing pranks with some other jokester. Even after difficult missions, he managed to lighten the mood by joking about how he almost got a new tan because of the heat of the explosion. Merrick's silence was all the answer I needed.

Standing up from my bed, I walked the few steps separating me from Merrick cautiously and stood in front of him. By now, he had his head in his hands, in a cradled motion, as if to protect himself from me, from my interrogation. But I wasn't done yet, this was too strange to let it pass." Talk to me, Merrick." I crouched down to his level, searching his eyes for any signs of what he might be thinking. "Hey …" I went to grab his wrists, but he retracted them away from my reach.

"Why must you bring this up now?" Before I could see his expression, he had already stood up and stalked to the window, back turned to me, voice stern and void of any emotions except anger.

"When should I, then? Once we're dead? Or maybe too injured or traumatized to even think about it?" I couldn't help my tone being a tad cynical, but damn, I probably shouldn't have implied the last part.

"What kind of shit are you saying?" He replied, voice dangerously low. However, he still didn't turn around. I sure hit a soft spot, but I wasn't impressed by his menacing posture. He must have known, for he gave off an increasingly angrier aura.

"The kind that forces you to see what's in front of you." His back and shoulders visibly tensed at my words; apparently not expecting such accurate observations. He should have known better though. "You thought I didn't notice?"

He didn't answer, as I predicted. "I saw how you looked at them. You had the same look for Ajax, when he was injured and when he died." I knew it too well. That kind of deep gaze, filled with hatred and a mix of sorrow and worry; the one that gradually got void of anything positive, and just saw the damage done and the person related to it.

"What do _you_ know?" His voice was so quiet that it barely carried to my ears. Merrick moved forward to press his arm against the wall, resting his forehead against it, shoulders slacking.

"Enough, to know that you are affected. You've been acting strange since he got back." After a second thought, I added "Not strange, but more distant. Even from me." I didn't approach him; I won't until he showed any signs of wanting me close.

"You're still onto Ajax's death." It wasn't a question. We both knew what the matter was, even though Merrick did not admit it. "You're relating what happened to him to Logan." Pieces of the puzzle slowly got into place as time passed by, and Merrick's silence only confirmed what he didn't deny. Ajax had been one of the youngest, just like Logan was. They were both tortured by Rorke; even if it seemed that Logan's trial had been invasive and shattering, Ajax's must have been shorter and more intense. However, they both suffered. Terribly.

I could understand Merrick was still hurting, even if he didn't expressively show it at the time, for the sake of the mission and our safety. He denied it, but he's good at hiding his feelings. Better than me. Unfortunately, this had a downside: he couldn't express himself when he was hurting, too caught up in the comfort of his own mind, safely tucked away from any vicious attacks. Someone had to physically drag him out, before he drove himself crazy. It's been years, and never once did he completely let go, unhealthily bottling up everything and occasionally blowing off steam on his unfortunate enemy.

His shoulders started shaking gently, probably from the exertion of keeping everything in. And I would wait until he felt like speaking, or conveying his feelings.

"You speak of trauma, but what about you?" He might need a little push. "You sent Hesh to the psy, but we should probably all go, considering we're all affected." We should certainly follow our own advice. Trauma doesn't hit only one person, family and friends are affected as well.

"You speak a lot about me, and others. But you exclude yourself." Hearing him suddenly speak startled me, causing me to whip around and face his back. What surprised me more were his words. Now he was avoiding my questions by turning them against me.

"You're avoiding what I'm saying." I stated bluntly. I wasn't about to let him get away from it, not that easily anyway.

"What are you doing now?" He retorted quickly.

"Stop that." I won't get angry at him for trying to protect himself, or jab at me. "You're the one who has trouble expressing your feelings, not me." I added a bit coldly, even if I worked on keeping my tone light and free from anything accusing. I simply pointed out what his problem was.

"You speak so big of yourself, yet you're so tiny." I knew what he was referring to: my job as a scout sniper. Always the one lurking, but rarely engaging directly. The person that stabs you in the back when you're not looking, then hid. The person you trusted the most as an ally, but despised and feared as an enemy.

"Look who's speaking. I'm not that insignificant if I'm able to pull a reaction out of you." Merrick suddenly turned around and punched me squarely in the jaw. I stumbled back a few steps but didn't fall down. I could finally see his face; it wasn't especially pleasant to speak to a wall of coldness. His complexion got redder, breathing heavily and trembling slightly, eyes shining. Well, that's a reaction.

"You piece of _shit_." He growled under his breath while insulting me, his raised fist shaking. I frowned at the quality of his voice. It sounded high pitched and tight with emotions, like they were struggling to jump out yet he stubbornly kept them in. If only he realized what damage he was inflicting himself …

"Can't take a little critic? Or a little jab? Just because of your oversized and misplaced ego?" My sly words and tone would certainly make him furious, but that was my goal. Make him explode.

"I'm gonna _fucking_ pound your face in if you don't shut the fuck up!" He yelled at last. However, I hadn't reached my limit yet. He could threaten me all he wanted, I would not budge.

"You can never let go, can you? You're so damn obstinate that you don't even see your killing yourself. You think I didn't notice that you're falling? Ever since Ajax, and even before?" Now he looked taken aback. I surprised even myself with how brutally I was telling him.

"You're blaming yourself for something you couldn't control. Just like Hesh! And you're shutting it out instead of confronting it."

"Confronting, you say? How about that guy in Cuba that got massacred by Rorke, yet you said nothing?" I instantly froze at this new piece of knowledge.

"How do you know?" My mind raced as I tried to figure out how he could have known. Did he see me? Impossible, I was always the one that reported in last.

"You think you're the only that takes back routes, or has binoculars, simply because you're a sniper?" I wasn't able to reply right away, too caught up in his previous words. "You think you hide better than others?" I crossed my arms and stepped back defensively, without really realizing it.

"How do you know?" I asked again, more forcefully. I couldn't believe how he put me off track so easily, when I was trying so hard to make him lose it.

"You're so good at observing and giving lessons, yet you can't follow your _own_ advice!" He clearly emphasized on that word, like something was my fault. "You're just a hypocrite." He turned a sympathetic, almost pitying look towards me; as if he felt _sorry_ for me.

"_How do you know_?" I screamed at him as I couldn't take it anymore. He successfully managed to anger me in less time than I could have done to him. I found myself in the same state as he had been.

"Because I saw it too." Such simple words came out of his mouth, yet the impact they left was massive.

"What?" My voice came out so small and weak, unrecognizable to my ears. I didn't know why I felt a sense of betrayal well up in me, as well as hurt. "You didn't say anything about it."

"I didn't for a reason." He looked a lot more composed, while I could feel myself break down into pieces. The whole event from the past came crashing down on me, as well as Hesh's grief and Logan's trial. The agony of the memory was becoming overwhelming, and I discovered myself a new dimension of pain I have never felt before.

"You're sensible and compassionate." Each step he took closer to me forced me to take a step back. I didn't really understand what I was walking away from. It appeared Merrick was a lot more farseeing than I gave him credit for; and I wasn't as observing as I thought.

"Too much for your own good." However his words were true. Even if I didn't let people see it, I truly cared for others like brothers, like Hesh did … like Rorke used to do. Seeing a teammate die or coming back in pieces, while knowing one of your brother was the cause of it was unbearable to my heart. I finally hit the wall, with Merrick closing up on me. His closeness bothered me more than I thought it would. He suddenly raised his hand to my face.

"And that's why." He startled me by stroking my cheek with his thumb, surprising me with the tenderness.

"This situation is shit for everyone." He said in a teary voice, eyes shining brightly with barely restrained emotion. The guy was practically crying, fingers quaking and tears falling ever so slowly. Logan's trial affected us all like a halo.

I didn't need to see myself, for Merrick's grief mirrored mine in every aspect. And for just a moment, it felt better to hold his hand in mine.

_Just let go to rebuild again. Stronger this time._

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**I hope there weren't too many mistakes, and that you enjoyed it. Reviews are appreciated ! You can also PM me, I'll answer as fast as I can.**

**This story is really getting off !**


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